Wednesday, December 26, 2007


Thank you very much for the presents. The computer meltdown was a great gift, may Rudolf's nose blow a gasket next year. The stomach virus was also great fun and is continuing to give me much joy as I watch the scales showing the weight loss.

The fridge has goodies but tea was half an avocado and two dry biscuits with a big treat, half a glass of lemonade. At least I'm catching up on sleep since I can hardly stand up for too long. This really bugs (ha!) me as all year I've kept reasonably good health discounting the mental disintegration caused by Mama and I have to get crook just before the feasting season.

Tomorrow I have to shop for the old bat but it will be a quick visit and home to bed. She moaned about what a miserable day it was for Christmas but she had more people through the house than I see in a week. My sister cooked a roast for her (after an eight hour shift) and she had pudding and brandy. Poor Aunt Selma had nothing apparently, Aunt Patty had too many. hahahha! Bad Luck.

BrickOutHouse has a new girlfriend, very nice so sis went out of her way to make it a lovely meal. She only had one upset and boiled the pudding in the plastic wrap but remembered it half way through. Nothing was burnt and I think that's pretty good after 6 cans of VB.

Did I mention I was home in bed? Ill, sick, dying, hungry, without a computer lifeline.

I had one present to open. Estee Lauder perfume, powder, lotion, bath oil. The box was beautiful and the right size for Christmas ornament storage (I made sis get hers out of the bin). The red ribbon made gorgeous roses for a table arrangement (for next year) and the paper was gold and just the right size to line a drawer. Now that's what I call a gift that keeps giving, apart from a stomach virus that is.


Brian Hughes said...

Could have been worse.

My sister's house caught fire for Christmas and now resembles an over-cooked black pudding, my old archaeologing mate Neil dropped dead on the day before Christmas Eve, Michelle's had the same stomach bug as you and the cat woke me up at four o'clock on Christmas morning by bouncing up and down on my head because he wanted to open his present (which, incidentally, consisted of beef steak and chips). Add to that the dire programmes on the telly, the fact that the butcher forgot to wrap our Christmas Day chops (which we paid for but discovered yesterday morning we didn't have) and it all amounts to a typical Christmas really.

The cards (as is our tradition) are now in the bin.

Same time next year, eh?

Shelley said...

Sounds lovely. Nice to know that someone had a worse [non-fatal] type of illness over Christmas than me.

May next year be better - the whiole of the next year even.

Davoh said...

umm, 'tis now the 26th .. something must have survived .. only 7 more days .. heh .. am looking forward to the 3rd of next year

R.H. said...


au contraire, que que que, and I'm feeling like Hal Porter in The Extra, rushing about visiting people. But unlike with Hal, they seem not awfully delighted. How surprising.
But never mind, off today to see Dirty Lyn: filthiest human being of our times (and perhaps all time). She has a little terrace in Fitzroy, one of half a dozen, and all beautifully restored -except hers, which being somewhere in the middle, stands out like a black turd.
(Well goodness me, poor croissant eaters: when they said they wanted diversity, was this what they meant? Certainly not! But what can they do?)
And so anyway, there I am, on Lyn's little veranda, tapping at her boudoir window, sweetly calling her name: "Lyn?" "Lyn?"
But no answer.
Well she's never up before midday, and it's a bit before that, but golly, no response. And so eventually I'm tapping louder, then I'm banging on the door, then I'm kicking it "Hey, Dirty!" And at last!- it opens!

aaarrggghhhhh! she says, It's you!
aaarrggghhhhh, I answer. You're not wrong.

And yes, it is her, Dirty Lyn, in all her skinny radiance: dishmop hairdo and she hasn't even put her teeth in yet. "Christ!" she hollers, "What a fucken time to go visiting people!" and flounces off down the passage. I stand there, a little stunned, but then accepting this as an invitation, I follow, kicking rubbish aside all the way.
I sit in the kitchen, a Mecca of rubbish, with a huge mound under the table. "The Mormons were here yesterday," she says. "I invited them in but they went straight out again." She seems surprised.
Lynn lives alone now, since the absence of her fat mother, whose motorised wheelchair crashed into a table of latte drinkers along Brunswick Street -and who were indignant of course, at anyone arriving so dramatically and uninvited, until realising she'd had a heart attack and was dead. Unlike her mother, Lyn is not sentimental, and even a little insensitive, some would say, but she still has the chair. And takes a ride in it sometimes.
"They've been playing that Little Drummer Boy crap next door," she says. "And it's given me the fucken horrors!"
She fills the kettle, bangs it down on the stove, and I'm looking around for my cup, my exclusive cup, where is it?
"Where's my cup?" I open a cupboard door, seeing a lot of cobwebs.
She slams it shut, glares at me triumphantly. "There!" she hollers, "Where you left it!" And I find it on the floor, beside the couch, where I left it a month ago, partly full of tea. And it still is.
Oh. Mea culpa.
My fault entirely.

Come, they told me
Par rum a pum pum
A new born king to see
Par rum a pum pum
His name be Dan Murphy
Par rum a pum pum
Supplier to Miss Brownie
Par rum a pum pum
Rum a pum pum
Rum a pum! pum!


JahTeh said...

Well we know which Santa list the Hughes family was on this year. I had a fantastic e-card to send you but didn't have an address or a computer. It would have fitted in with your day, it was an elephant surf boarding, fell off and hit its head on a rock.

Nails, the old girl is still with us and doesn't look like going anywhere soon although her mind is certainly going on walkabout and picking up the pace.

Davo, I'm looking forward to the 29th of this year since I intend to win the big Tattslotto. I gather the 3rd is the house of Davo departure day.

JahTeh said...

Robbert, I want that comment enshrined, it's fabulous. And I think it sounds like me in another 10 years or maybe not looking at the pile of dishes I've got in the kitchen but I washed the bath for Christmas. I hate the drummerboy story, always makes me cry.

River said...

I've heard that if you mention to the Mormons that you really don't have time to listen to them, that you have too much housework to do they will offer to help you with it so that they can keep on spreding the word to your ears...........
I have a special coffee cup that I drink from at my daughter's house. then I rinse and dry it and take it home again. There is NO way I would leave it there.

JahTeh said...

Believe me River, no one ever eats or drinks in my kitchen and I have two china mugs put away that I bring out for company. I always look at my kitchen through rose-coloured glasses, it's very hard to see the dirty dishes that way. Doesn't anyone care that I cleaned the bath for Christmas?

Brian Hughes said...


My e-mail address is under my profile at the Fylde and Wyre Antiquarian Forum (accessed via my blogger board)...hidden away where spammers and undesirables can't reach it.

Alternatively you could always ask Sedgwick. He's got all my personal details locked up in a bank vault in case of emergencies.

R.H. said...

The funny thing for me was the way she admonished me for it, as though it were all my fault.
I usually rinse my cup there and hide it up in a cupboard, I must have forgotten.

Maria said...

"Doesn't anyone care that I cleaned the bath for Christmas?"

Not unless I have to bathe in it. Why else would it ...?

Yep, there are worse Christmases, like Hughesy I knew someone wh odropped dead a little before Christmas so I attended a funeral just yesterday.

I also had to watch a bit of Chevy Chase on TV, a tiny screen one at my cousin's, because before Christmas a lightning storm hit their house and blew three of their televisions - Only a tiny little portable one, difficult to see and I think about ten-twelve inch screen (my guess)! - survived as it wasn't plugged in at the time

But on Christmas Day I went to a BBQ and my cousin was wearing the apron we'd given his father a few years before, on which were inscribed his life philosophy:


Best wishes for a stress free New Year - Look up, not down!

JahTeh said...

Maria I never clean anything so this is a big big yahoo. Every time I vaccum I write the date on the calendar to frighten myself into doing it again before 6 months is up.

ASK SEDGWICK! You jest M'Lord, it's only the 28th of December, you know he won't be sober until at least January 6.

Middle Child said...

hope you are feeling better by now....sorry such a shithouse time